


The Wizard's Apprentice on Vacation

by SusanaR



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory, Brothers, Family, Friendship, Gen, History, Mentor/Protégé, The One Ring - Freeform, precocious children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gandalf goes to Dol Amroth and does not find what he was looking for, but does come to an unexpected realization, courtesy of the Brothers Hurin and Prince Imrahil's family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: This story is set during a visit to Dol Amroth when Faramir is 8 and Boromir just turned 14. There are several differences from canon in this story. Prince Imrahil's wife was unnamed in canon, I am calling her Princess Lorias. Prince Adrahil is still alive (which is canon-consistent), but I have changed Imrahil's children's ages to make them closer in age Boromir and Faramir. According to canon, Imrahil's children are all younger than the Hurin Brothers. For purposes of my series, Elphir is 13, Erchirion is 11, Lothiriel is 7, and Amrothos is 5. 
> 
> As a side note, I've made Faramir slightly younger than in canon, by moving up the date of the battle with the corsairs and Aragorn/Thorongil's departure from Gondor by five years. In the AU, Faramir is 33 at the time of the Ring War, rather than 37. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "It is the child in man that is the source of his uniqueness and creativeness, and the playground is the optimal milieu for the unfolding of his capacities and talents." - Eric Hoffer

The waterfalls of Imladris sung him to sleep, and Gandalf dreamed. Of Bilbo Baggins, possessed by the Enemy, conquering the Shire. His face distorted by greed, Bilbo sat by a roaring fire in his own hobbit hole, demanding that the Farthing's finest chef prepare him the best of food, and that it be served to him on the good china. 

Gandalf awoke with a shout. 

"You should not have taken so much of the dream potion, my friend." Elrond's voice observed from beside the bed. 

"I needn't have bothered." Gandalf replied shortly, "I saw nothing of any use." The very idea of Bilbo Baggins, evil overlord, was too ridiculous a notion to even be contemplated. It could not be, Gandalf assured himself. Yes, Bilbo had a magic ring, but all it could do was turn him invisible. The elves of Eregion had made many such baubles, in their days. The one ring had corrupted Isildur at the once, and he had been a great hero, born of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur. Bilbo, in contrast, had grown yet braver after acquiring his ring, and still to this day was a fine fellow. More stuck in his ways than he had once been, yes, but kind, too. He had taken in Frodo, after all. 

No, Gandalf had been thinking of the ring, and of Bilbo, whose invitation to visit he had recently declined with regret, and the two unrelated ideas had combined in an illogical manner. Elrond's potion simply had not worked. 

"Still, I will stay with you the rest of the night, to guard your dreams." Elrond promised. 

"No, Hir Nin, I'll stay." Interrupted a golden tenor. 

"Glorfindel...."

A firm rebuke in Quenya, and the great Lord Elrond was sent on his way. 

Gandalf chuckled. 

"It's just your basic ruling-lord management." Glorfindel explained with a grin. "Besides, you irritated the healer in him by not following instructions. He doesn't understand how sturdy you lot are, not really. How could he? He's only known you and the...."

"Please," Gandalf interrupted wryly, "Do spare me your ever-flattering description of my dear brother Saruman." 

Glorfindel snorted. "He's a pompous...." 

"Yes, yes, he can be a bit....overly formal, at times. But he believes that he is acting for the best."

Glorfindel took a deep breath and conceded the point with a languorous wave of one broad, calloused palm. He waited until Gandalf had lit his pipe and begun to relax before asking, "So, if you do find the One Ring, what are you going to do with it?" 

"And that, dear Glorfindel, is part of the problem." 

"Oh?" 

"I have no idea." 

"You should figure that out, then." 

"Easier said than done, my friend." 

"Still, there's no point finding the thing until you know how to destroy it, Olor....Mithrandir. Elrond and Erestor will help you." Offered Glorfindel, with the supremely unconcerned air of an elf who had just handed over a problem to someone entirely more suited to the task. 

The morning dawned not long after. Elrond was in a much better mood, and well disposed towards aiding Gandalf in his mission. The two combed through the archives, with the occasional aid of the willing but harried Erestor. The work that Elrond was neglecting in favor of playing archivist was almost entirely falling upon Erestor's shoulders, since Erestor's adopted son Melpomaen, Gandalf's normal research assistant in Imladris, was off knight-erranting with Elrond's twin sons. 

At last, Elrond remembered several lesser objects of mischief, let loose by Sauron's surviving lieutenants after the War of the Last Alliance to wreak havoc in the days not long after the war. 

"It was when my sons were young," Elrond explained with a fond, tired smile, "And I'm afraid that many of those years tend to blur together." 

"Mmm." Murmured Gandalf, his eyes twinkling. He hadn't met Elladan and Elrohir until they were almost nine hundred years old, but he could well imagine. 

"There was a cloak clasp," Elrond continued, absently accepting a bread roll that Glorfindel had buttered for him, "A gift from a jealous old woman to the young King Galador of Dol Amroth. It near drove him mad." 

"He tried to kill Orophin." Erestor remembered, dropping his own toasted bread. Glorfindel sighed, and handed him another. 

"Yes," Elrond agreed with somber mien, "Orophin threw the clasp into the sea and subdued his friend the Prince. Not even two months later, the cloak clasp washed ashore and drove a good, decent fisherman to become a multiple murderer, thief, and rapist." 

Terrible, yes indeed, but promising, for Gandalf's purpose. He leaned forward intently, "And how was it destroyed?" 

Elrond frowned, Erestor shook his head, and Glorfindel raised a brow. 

"How is it possible that none of you recall?" Gandalf scolded. 

"I was more concerned with healing the poor young half-elf's mind." Elrond explained, "Erestor was playing regent, and Glorfindel...."

"Protecting Elrond, protecting Orophin, protecting Galadriel, protecting Celebrian, and arranging for the protection of Elrohir and Elladan, and for the protection of Lothlorien from Elrohir and Elladan." 

"But I'm sure we've got it written down somewhere." Elrond reassured Gandalf. 

A week later, even Elrond had to concede that they didn't, but it was Glorfindel who remembered that Elrond had decided to leave all of that research behind in Dol Amroth, for Galador's peace of mind. 

And so Gandalf the Grey found himself bound for Dol Amroth's sunny shores, just as green spring gave way to summer's sun-drenched splendor. He followed the course of the Bruinen to the Grayflood, passing the ruins at Lond Daer before coming to the rough harbor at the river's mouth at noon on a bright day. 

He had planned to find a ship there, but as it happened, a ship found him. 

"Mithrandir!" Roared a cheerful, familiar voice from the dock. A blond giant of a man stood before one of Dol Amroth's newest and fastest merchant ships. Laughing blue eyes, neatly trimmed mustache, and a grin broader than the Anduin - it could be no one but Telemnar, son of Celudir. The brother of Dol Amroth's commoner Princess Lorias, and one of the most talented and terrifying mariners ever to Captain a ship. Also a man well-known to Gandalf from the days that Aragorn Isildurchil had served in Gondor's army and Dol Amroth's navy under the name Thorongil. Telemnar had been promoted to Captain for his skill and ability to inspire others, demoted to Lieutenant for daring things no sane man would consider, and then promoted back to Captain again for further acts of valor and brilliance. Twice. And that was just that Gandalf knew of. 

"Telemnar," Gandalf greeted, preparing to talk his way on to the man's ship, despite the potential of an overexciting voyage - always a possibility which could not be discounted when it came to Telemnar. 

"'Tis good that I found you," Telemnar said, his teeth flashing in another pirate's grin, "We'll load just what we need, then set sail for Dol Amroth within the half hour." 

Gandalf stared at the many crates and barrels being off-loaded from the ship, and the greater stack on the dock, clearly intended for Telemnar's holds, and marked for destinations in the opposite direction. Still, Gandalf felt the need for haste, and accepted the situation without demur. 

It wasn't until they were well on their way with a following wind at their backs that Gandalf finally inquired as to his good fortune, "I am glad for the ride, Telemnar, but you clearly lost a small fortune, and did look to be headed home, besides." 

Telemnar laughed and leaned forward, "I get paid either way, Mithrandir. I'm a military man, not a merchant. And I had orders- we all did, to bring you to Dol Amroth as soon as possible, or sooner." 

That was a surprise, and potentially an unwelcome one. "Adrahil is looking for me?" Gandalf asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 

"Yes." Telemnar agreed, still in good cheer. It gave Gandalf a great deal to think about, as the stars came out overhead. Once, many years ago, Adrahil had aided Gandalf in identifying the source of a poison which had been used by Sauron's agents to tracelessly slay many of the Lords and powerful of Gondor. It had been a long-term project requiring nine different trips over five successive decades. On the first, Adrahil had been a young man of twenty and nine, and his father Angelimir had been very glad to see the back of him, due to some scandal with a married woman. On the last, Adrahil had been in his eighties, and he'd endured torture near unto death protecting Gandalf's secrets from orcs and worse at Minas Morgul. If Gandalf owed a debt to any man living, it was Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth. A debt that in half a century the man had never once tried to collect. What he might need now, Gandalf could not even begin to imagine. 

Telemnar kept them sailing full-tilt through the nights as well as the days, and the wind stayed in their favor. In less time than Gandalf would have thought possible, they were sailing up the harbor towards Adrahil's reddish-pink sandstone castle, the waves blue-green in the mid-morning light. 

One of Telemnar's men lifted up his arm to offer a perch to a sea-hawk. Taking off a message tube, Telemnar tossed it to Gandalf. 

"A reply, addressed to you." The Captain explained. 

"I didn't send anyone a message." 

"I did, to let Prince Adrahil know I'd found you." Telemnar explained. 

"I see." The brief message on rolled-up parchment had been written in Adrahil's own near-illegible hand. Whatever urgent matter had impelled him to order Mithrandir brought to him at all haste had apparently been resolved, but Adrahil made clear that Gandalf was still most welcome to Dol Amroth. A second parchment, in a scribe's more measured script, promised that Gandalf's room would be made ready for him, and invited him to dine with the Prince and his court that evening. 

Adrahil's castellan, a new man whom Gandalf didn't recognize from his last visit some dozen years ago, greeted him at the dock. Gandalf shocked the poor fellow once by carrying only one small satchel, and then shocked him again by insisting on going directly to the castle's largest library. 

"But, Lord Mithrandir, do you not wish to take refreshment first?" The young official asked as Gandalf set a rapid pace through cool courtyards full of singing, trilling fountains, shaded by large, sheltering branches, and smaller trees bearing ripe lemons, oranges, and limes.

After finally convincing the man that he did not, Gandalf was able to begin his research, at last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> "He is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring, and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place. That we should wish to cast him down and have no one in his place is not a thought that occurs to his mind. That we should try to destroy the Ring itself has not yet entered into his darkest dream." - J.R.R. Tolkien, from the Two Towers

Gandalf the Gray, Wizard and immortal Ithron, paused his research in frustration. Why the Dol Amroth library had to alphabetize its catalog of resources in a bastardized version of Quenya that seemed almost more like a strange dialect of Nandorin, rather than in Sindarin or Westron, as did every other library in the world, the Wizard did not know. But when he found the unfortunate individual responsible for that decision...

"There's an alternative catalog in Westron." A young voice piped up. "Aunt Ivriniel's husband ordered it done, when he couldn't find the treatises he wished to consult on different navigational techniques." 

Gandalf looked up to find a grinning eight year old, both taller and tanner than he recalled, but quite unmistakably the late Lady Finduilas' younger son, Lord Faramir of Gondor. 

"What are you doing here?" The Wizard asked, startled. To the best of his ability to recall, this human child belonged in Minas Tirith. 

"Visiting my Uncle Imrahil and Aunt Lorias, and my grandfather Adrahil." Faramir explained. "What are you researching, Mithrandir? May I help?" 

"Ah." Gandalf commented. He had not thought that Faramir might be here in Dol Amroth, but it made sense, he supposed. Boromir, now a teenager, would not be in military school during the summer, and Adrahil did love having his family about. So much so he had tried to refuse to let any of his children marry away from Dol Amroth. The Wizard quickly took advantage of the situation and put Faramir to work. "Go find the catalog in Westron, and start looking for rings of power, enchanted objects, objects of power, or focuses." 

With the assistance of Finduilas' clever son, Gandalf's progress improved rapidly. Unfortunately, they did not find very much. Only two scrolls, recopied from earlier originals, from not long after Isildur's death, and a book written several centuries later, by a scholar who had never personally seen an object of power. 

Gandalf, frustrated with the paltry results of their research, barked to Faramir to check the catalog in Quenya.

Young Faramir took a deep breath, clearly summoning his patience. "Mithrandir, perhaps if you were to explain more of what you are looking for, I might be able to recognize possible...alternative categorizations of that information, as I did for you in the past." 

Gandalf considered that for a moment. He had not planned on sharing this particular research with any humans, indeed not with any beings except perhaps Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel or Lord Cirdan. However, the child had a point. More, Finduilas had been nigh incorruptible, and her ancestress Anelis the same. Finally, the Wizard decided it was worth the risk.

"What I am about to explain to you, Faramir son of Finduilas, you must never share with any other soul, living or dead. Do you understand me?" The Wizard asked, putting a note of power in his voice. 

The boy's eyes widened, but he stood his ground. "Aye, Mithrandir. Though I must warn you, if it be treason against Gondor or Dol Amroth, I am previously sworn to tell my father, grandfather or uncle." 

Gandalf chuckled despite himself. "You have a advocate's mind, or a fox's, child. No, this is no treason against your kingdom or your grandfather's princedom. It is merely something that can easily lead to darkness. Knowledge such as this has perverted good men, turned them into beasts who would slay their own children to accumulate power. Do you swear you will not reveal this knowledge, unless the keeping of it forswear your earlier oaths?" Gandalf asked, the note of power again in his voice. 

"I swear." Faramir promised sincerely. 

Gandalf proceeded to explain that he was looking for ways to destroy an object of great evil power. The Wizard recalled that, in the distant past, Sauron had created many less powerful objects, which had weaknesses that could be exploited, and the objects thereby destroyed. 

"And that is our task, young Faramir. To find out what those ways were, so that we might perhaps learn something about how to destroy this most powerful object." The Wizard concluded. 

Faramir tilted his head, and asked "Why look here in Dol Amroth, rather than in Gondor? The archives in Minas Tirith generally have much more information."

"Ah, child. I am here because of one of your distant Dol Amroth ancestors, Galador, the son of Imrazor the Numenorean and Mithrellas, a silvan elf from a settlement near Lothlorien, was corrupted by such an object of power. His friends nearly had to kill him to prevent his spreading death and destruction across middle earth. At that point, they - and he - developed a great deal of interest in how those objects could be destroyed, and fought." 

Faramir nodded seriously. "Do people who have been exposed always need to be killed, or can they be redeemed?" the child asked seriously. 

The Wizard looked at the boy thoughtfully. "The objects can be fought, by a person's resisting the urge to admire them for their nature, or to give them what they want. But if a person has been exposed to the object for too long, redemption can be .... nigh impossible." 

"But not impossible." The boy insisted. 

"As I said, child. You have a promising future as an advocate." The Wizard repeated. 

"I must be a soldier, like my father and brother." Faramir disagreed. 

Gandalf held his tongue. He did not think Faramir would make a particularly good soldier, obedience to authority and following orders without creative interpretation not seeming to be strengths of Faramir's. More, the lad looked to have inherited his great-grandfather Angelimar's slight build. The child would probably do better amongst the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, or amongst the Dunedain, where being a great hulking menace was not such a basic requirement of soldiery. But Gandalf didn't think there was anything to be gained by arguing about it, so he merely instructed Faramir to return to the Quenya catalog and see what he could find. 

The shadows grew long on the marble wall while the boy searched and the Wizard read. After several hours, they switched places, and the boy read aloud while the Wizard searched the catalog, finding a few more possible references he flagged to ask the archivists to retrieve. Looking out the long windows, where the setting sun was giving the dark blue waves an orange-pink sheen, Faramir paused. Then he addressed Mithrandir, "To summarize, these sources contend that lesser objects whose power was created by spilling the blood of unwilling men and elves can be destroyed by even a token spilling of willing blood. Objects created in certain types of fire can be destroyed in the sea. Those created by sea water and unwilling blood can be destroyed by fire and willing blood. Objects created by stagnant water can be destroyed by fresh, running water. None of these evil...things...seem that hard to destroy. Why did Sauron bother?"

"Hmm, yes." The Wizard agreed, recalling now that he had once spoken to elves with clear if long-ago memories of such relatively simple tricks working, and having seen it once or twice himself since arriving on Middle Earth the better part of two millenia ago. No artefacts comparable to the ring or even Galador's cloak clasp, but information of some use. "Still, to actually destroy those objects took an impressive amount of power...." 

"Power like magic?" Faramir asked. "That doesn't make sense, as some of the people who were credited as having destroyed them are men, elves, and dwarves." 

"No, not like magic." The wizard snapped. "Pay attention, boy. I said power, not magic. I meant "will power." You don't have to be a Wizard to destroy a common object of power, you just need enough pure bloody-minded stubbornness. Either you or your father Denethor should have no trouble." 

Faramir sighed again, seemingly holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth. "So, does that answer the question you came for, then?" 

"No it most certainly does not." Gandalf scolded. "Don't be sloppy, Faramir. These objects we have been reading of were but the weak objects of power, those Sauron created on the way to learning how to make the ...final objects."

"The rings." Faramir supplied.

Gandalf looked at him intently. "How did you know about those?" The Wizard asked, dangerously.

Faramir swallowed but met the Ithron's eyes without giving an inch. "I guessed. It wasn't hard. The ring that Isildur lost at Gladden fields was the ring Isildur cut off of Sauron's hand, ending the earlier war, the one between the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and Sauron's forces."

"Hmm." Gandalf murmured, disturbed. "Have you told anyone else of this?" 

"No." Faramir said, meeting Gandalf's eyes again so that the Wizard could read that he told the truth. "I didn't figure it out until after...Mother died, and no one else would care."

Gandalf sighed in frustration. "Eru be praised for that at least..." He took a deep breath. "Faramir, I can assure you, many people would care. Your father would care, as would your grandfather. Your uncle might care. And, if they were to succeed in finding Isildur's precious object, it would corrupt them utterly, as it once did Isildur." 

"Why didn't he just destroy it then?" Faramir asked, with a child's understanding of right and wrong. 

"He failed." Gandalf said bluntly. "As has everyone who has tried to carry and resist that ring. Which is why we need to destroy it." 

"Very well." Faramir said, rallying himself to the cause. "So what do we know, and what do we still need to find out?" 

Gandalf looked at the boy, reconsidering. Maybe Faramir would experience some success in the military after all, if he was promoted high enough before he was discharged for disobedience. Gandalf mused aloud in answer, "Mostly Sauron locked these weak objects away in secret rooms, releasing one or another only to cause a specific mischief. We know that the Enemy viewed them as failures, and did not want it known that his creations could so easily be defeated."

Faramir nodded. "So we know that. And we know that we need to find a way to destroy the one ring, a way that doesn't depend on any one person having the strength to destroy it." 

"Hmm." Gandalf murmured, very frustrated, for they had still found nothing about how to defeat the one ring, save taking it to the fires of Mount Doom. How on Arda could they hide that little expedition from canny, paranoid, old Sauron? And how to get it there in the first place? The only elves who had the strength of will to resist the Sauron's call through the rings were too powerful to be allowed near the one ring, just as Gandalf was himself. 

"Faramir, I want you to go through each source in the archive, starting with the most ancient, and peruse the pages quickly, looking for mentions of rings of power, first, then other objects of power." Gandalf commanded. 

Faramir stared at him. "Mithrandir, that could take months..." The boy protested. 

"You're here all summer, aren't you?" The Wizard replied, irritated. Did the boy want to help, or not? 

Faramir sighed, then answered. "I do want to assist you, Mithrandir. But now I must leave for dinner. Uncle Imrahil and Aunt Lorias insist that I not miss meals."

Gandalf grunted. That was probably a good thing, the boy was very thin. "Very well, I shall join you, and we shall return here immediately after dinner." 

The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mithrandir. I can't assist you then, I have prior commitments." 

"Hmm." The Wizard murmured, clearly disapproving. "And may you not return after you have discharged those obligations, young Faramir? As I recall, when several years younger, you thought nothing of appearing at my room with an answer well after midnight. My need for assistance now is just as dire, if not more so, than my need was then." 

"But that was just luck!" Faramir objected, "I do not know as I will be fortunate enough to find something so relevant again, Mithrandir. Without that compelling a reason, I would not risk my uncle and aunt's displeasure."

The Wizard raised his eyebrow. "Not your brother's?" He asked. 

A strange, sad, troubled look passed over the child's face. "Nay. Boromir is not talking to me right now." 

Gandalf worried, but the child would explain no more. Faramir said, and not incorrectly, that it was between the brothers and no matter of the Wizard's.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one." - EB White

At Adrahil's invitation, Gandalf attended dinner that evening in the breezy great hall of the old sandstone castle. He found himself seated at the head table with Prince Adrahil, his son Imrahil, Imrahil's wife Lorias, sister Ivriniel, and a smattering of Adrahil's and Imrahil's officers (including the very young castellan), and their wives. 

Faramir and Boromir were seated with the other children. There appeared to Gandalf to be almost fifty of them, but it might just be that they moved so quickly and made so much noise that every one child seemed more like two or even two and a half. 

Gandalf did notice that Lords Faramir and Boromir were sitting on opposite ends of the table of children. It might not have struck the casual observer that there was a breach between the two, as Faramir logically sat with a group who were closer to his own age, as did Boromir, but for someone who had seen the children so close in Minas Tirith, it was notable. 

Neither child seemed unhappy, however, save in their very occasional glances towards one another. Both laughed and chattered with their companions, Faramir and the smaller children getting up between courses and chasing one another around the room, until caught and sent back to their seats by one adult or another. 

Lord Denethor's heir had grown into a sturdy young teenager. He sat with a host of other big, husky young teenagers and pre-teens, including two slightly younger lads whom Gandalf would later learn were Imrahil's heir, Elphir, and his next oldest son, Erchirion. 

Imrahil himself was, until you came to know him well, a curiously placid fellow to have descended from the old Sea Fox Adrahil. Though Imrahil was clever, he did not use his wit for cutting others as his father was occasionally still wont to do, not unless he had been greatly pressed. 

Imrahil and Finduilas had been close, despite her having been eight years his senior and a lass. Imrahil clearly loved the two sons his sister had left behind. And though Gandalf knew that Adrahil had been taken aback by his patient and easy-going son, the old sea prince had always been a good father despite his well-known fire, and he loved all of his children and grandchildren deeply. 

During the dinner, Gandalf was amazed to see Denethor's sons acting like children, albeit engaging and well-behaved children, as opposed to curious little miniature adults, and said so. 

Imrahil exchanged a troubled look with his wife and father. "It is a recent development, and, if past precedent holds, will last only as long as their stay with us."

"Hmm." Said Gandalf. What else was there to say? One could not unilaterally withhold the sons of the Steward of Gondor, not even if one happened to be their grandfather or uncle. 

The following morning found Gandalf in the archives again, continuing with his mission. Faramir joined him in the early afternoon, his hair still wet from washing. 

"We have arms practice in the morning, and lessons in the afternoon." The boy explained, "But Daerada excused me from lessons to help you." 

"I will have to remember to thank him for that. Now, pick up with the catalog where you left off yestereve." 

Faramir was, for his age, an extremely capable research assistant. That is not to say that Gandalf didn't miss Elrond, or Melpomaen, or, for that matter, Faramir's late mother, but the boy was by any measure of the words a scholastic prodigy. He lacked the dedication of an adult scholar - he often disappeared in the late afternoons and early evenings, leaving Gandalf to struggle on by himself, and have to interact with the archivists' staff, which was in some ways more annoying. Having Faramir there to request more parchment and quills, or to politely ask young Lord Boromir's loud friends to go about whatever lesson had sent them to the archives more quietly, was a boon to Gandalf. 

Which made it all the more difficult when the boy was not there. And then the jokes! Gandalf had forgotten, if indeed he'd ever known, that eight year old children were apparently preoccupied with inane jests, the punchlines of which they often forgot or bungled, and the repetition of which they hardly ever tired of. There were several afternoons when Gandalf had to institute a "no talking except for the mission" rule. 

Faramir would often appear in the evenings, when the sparkling stars were high in the night sky. In a loose white cotton sleep shirt and pants and a soft blue robe, the boy looked even younger than his age. But his voice barely faltered when he found a source of interest, and read it aloud to the oft-impatient wizard. As the days went by, however, the boy became short-tempered, and more prone to missing important details. Gandalf gave him the afternoon off, hoping that would help. 

That night, Faramir was not even at dinner, and Boromir spent the evening glaring at the Wizard. When the meal was over and the Prince's court had withdrawn to one of the cool, ocean-facing terraces for dessert, drinks, dancing, and in the case of the children, more chasing of one another about, Boromir sought out his uncle, his grandfather, and the wizard. 

"You need to stop making Faramir help you after lights out, Wizard." The boy commanded. 

"Boromir!" Scolded Imrahil, whilst Adrahil looked on with interest. 

"Well, he does!" Said Boromir, unrepentant, though his cheeks did betray a slight flush at his uncle's tone of approbation, "That's why Faramir has been getting in trouble with you for wandering the halls late at night, Uncle. And why he has been too tired to pay attention to his fighting lessons in the morning." Narrowing his eyes and tilting his chin up as he turned his fierce gaze on the Wizard once more, Boromir concluded, "And why he hit his head this afternoon, playing capture the flag! He never would have mis-timed that jump from the platform so badly if he hadn't been tired from helping Mithrandir! Father doesn't even let him, and what's more....." 

"That's enough, Brom." Adrahil interrupted mildly. "Thank you for bringing the matter to our attention. Mithrandir is my guest, and not much accustomed to dealing with children. He likely did not realize the effect that so much time in the archives has had on a child as young as Faramir." 

"No, I had not." Agreed Mithrandir, somewhat abashed although still irritated at the peremptory tone of Denethor's heir, "Faramir often comes to see me in the late evenings. I gather that he has trouble sleeping." 

"He does." Said Imrahil shortly, "But he is supposed to seek me out, if he does. Not go wandering off to the archives. He knows that," the Prince continued, almost to himself. Shaking his head, Imrahil turned to Boromir. "Nephew, I do appreciate your looking out for your brother." Gandalf was somewhat impressed at how Imrahil managed to combine pride and a scold in the same level comment. 

"I'm sorry for doing so rudely." Boromir apologized, not with a stunning amount of sincerity, but well enough that Gandalf felt obliged to accept it. 

Imrahil sent his nephew on his way with a promise to take care of the matter, then invited Mithrandir to join him in a quieter chamber overlooking the sea. Adrahil followed, as sure of his welcome as a cat, his cane click-click-clicking on the marble floor. 

Gandalf was fond of Imrahil, but had little patience for rebukes from a young man who understood so little of what he was trying to do. 

"Your children are not like Finduilas' younger son, for you married for love rather than blood." Gandalf explained tersely, "Faramir has a responsibility that goes along with his intelligence and his heritage. And my work is of vital importance, lest we all perish." 

Imrahil flushed, looking more like his fiery sire than Gandalf had ever seen him before. But it was Princess Lorias, entering, who spoke, and firmly so. "You will not put Faramir to work so many afternoons and evenings, Mithrandir." 

Gandalf gaped at this firm command from the normally vivacious, easy-going Princess. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Imrahil was suppressing a smile. 

Lorias continued, "I know you did not approve of Imrahil's marrying me. To the best of my knowledge, none of you approved save Finduilas and Imrahil, and I only needed Imrahil. But I will tell you this; Faramir is a child, not a tool you can use as you will. Yes, he has the foresight in full strength, but as Finduilas was wont to say, the foresight is not omniscience." 

Gandalf tried to rally his arguments again, even as Adrahil shook his head in warning. A warning which the Wizard declined to heed. 

"My dear Lady," Gandalf began, "If I do not use all the resources at my disposal, including your nephew, young though he may be, there may be no future other than slavery and pain for all your children. Would you condemn the world to such darkness merely that Faramir might have a few more afternoons in the sun, or nights of full sleep?" 

"My dear Wizard," The Lady replied, not giving an inch. "If you do not allow my nephew to be a child, to learn how to work with other people to achieve his aims, he may not be whole enough nor wise enough to make the decisions he must when the foresight comes upon him in the dark hours to come." 

For the first time in the conversation, Gandalf was truly listening, rather than just waiting out objections he felt were unworthy. "What do you mean?" He asked. 

"Simply this. Foresight is only as valuable as the vessel who sees. Finduilas, and now Faramir, and everyone in this family except for me, occasionally see flashes of what might be, or receive sudden knowledge of what must be done so that a possible future can be attained or averted. That knowledge is nothing without the wisdom and the courage and the wholeness to make a good decision. There are some terrible sacrifices and instant decisions called for by foresight. If Faramir doesn't grow into a whole, balanced, man, he may not be able to take the instant action required to help save our future. If he does not learn how to work with and inspire others, he still may not be able to achieve those objectives, once they are decided upon. If he does not develop good judgment, how can he make these terrible decisions that will be called for? Some prices are too high, and some are terribly high but better than the other choices, and he must learn to know himself and others that he may make these decisions for all of us in the desperate hours that will come."

Princess Lorias, seeming somewhat embarrassed by the length of this speech, but not at all apologetic on her point that Faramir must be allowed to be a child, sighed. "I am sorry if I have offended you, Mithrandir. But that Faramir grow whole and well, in spirit and mind as well as body, may be more important than that he help you these nights." 

"He has Boromir to keep him whole." The Wizard objected. "I merely need him to be smart, and I will be gone soon enough anyway." 

Imrahil exchanged a long look with his father, and then Adrahil explained, "The brothers Hurin were not speaking to one another when they arrived, Mithrandir. Faramir must be whole on his own behalf. Boromir cannot handle all of his interactions with the outside world for him. They are both good boys, but they are but boys. You must let them grow, even if you may only have my grandson's help for but a few hours a day." 

Gandalf, at length, conceded the point. He had worked with worse restrictions in Gondor, though Faramir had been his ally in getting around those. Faramir seemed to care much more for the opinions of his brother and his Dol Amroth kin, and Gandalf could see why.

Faramir had spent that afternoon with the healers and then ensconced in his bedroom at the castle. Lorias had just come from keeping him company. Gandalf sought the boy out, intending to apologize. From just outside the child's room, he heard the sound of two voices, and realized that Boromir must have gotten there, first. 

"No, I'm sorry." Said Faramir miserably, "I never should have mouthed off to you when you told me to get down from the rigging, on the voyage here." 

"You ignored me first, then you mouthed off." Chided Boromir. 

"Yes. That. I shouldn't have." 

A long sigh, then Boromir spoke again, "I should have been....more understanding. I should have realized that you didn't hear me at first, and then....that you were....." A long pause, "Eight years old." 

"I'm still eight years old." Replied a baffled Faramir. 

"And you get to be eight, Daerada says. And he's right. It's....it's not awful of you to act like a brat, Faramir, as long as it's not too often. Erchirion does it all the time, and he's older than you." 

"You play with him, more. You always want him on your team." Faramir accused, the hurt clear in his young voice. 

"He's older. But I'll put you on my team, when Uncle Imrahil lets you play again." 

"No." Said Faramir thoughtfully, "I'll stay on Elphir's team, at least until we win once. Then I'll be on your team." 

"You think you're going to win, even once?" Boromir asked with a chuckle. 

Gandalf decided that was as auspicious a moment for his entrance as he was going to get. Faramir, with a large bruise on his forehead, was pouting at his brother in a way that made Gandalf think he was about to either burst into tears or say something unfortunate. The Wizard's arrival spared him either outcome, and although Gandalf had wanted to ask what they were talking about, he kept his focus on something more important. 

"Ah, Faramir. There you are. It has come to my attention that I have rather been taking advantage of your good nature and willingness to dedicate your scholarly skills to my cause." 

Faramir blinked at him. "It....it is well, Mithrandir." The child assured him, "I want to help." 

Boromir muttered something under his breath, until Faramir gave him a sad look. 

"Still, I should have remembered that a boy your age needs sunshine and rest," Gandalf said kindly, "I will endeavor to do better, in the future. And since helping me has put you in a position to miss the dancing tonight....why don't I tell you a story?" 

"Oh, yes, please!" Faramir enthused, his slate gray eyes gleaming. Gandalf berated himself. He should have remembered how much the boy liked stories, and shared more of them. Ah, well. It was not too late. 

Boromir looked torn between going and staying, but as Gandalf reached the part of the tale of the Quest for Erebor where the dwarves and Bilbo fought the three trolls, the young teenager elected to stay. He scooted closer to his brother on the bed, sitting up straight against the board so that Faramir's head could rest comfortably against his shoulder as the younger boy slouched amidst his pillows. 

Not much to Gandalf's surprise, Boromir liked the battle scenes. He played very close attention during the entirety of the part where Gandalf and the dwarves fought their way free of the Goblin-king. Faramir, on the other hand, preferred the tale Bilbo had passed on to Gandalf, of how he had bested the creature Gollum with his riddles. 

Faramir fell asleep as the dwarves and Bilbo rode the barrels down towards Laketown, but Boromir was still awake, and intently interested by that point. He pulled the blanket up closer around his brother, and asked fairly politely for Mithrandir to continue. Which Gandalf did. Boromir liked hearing of how Bard and his son had defeated the dragon, and the story of the tactical maneuvers during the Battle of the Five Armies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "Character consists of what you do on the third and fourth tries." - James Michener

The next day dawned bright and sunny, with a refreshing salt-scented breeze from the crashing sea. Eye-sore and hoping to assuage his curiosity over the brothers' conversation the previous night, the afternoon found Gandalf following the rock-cut steps down to the sheltered side of the castle. A wide beach was dotted here and there with open-sided tents and sunbathers. The shallows of the ocean were inhabited by small children and their caregivers, but what immediately seized a bystander's attention were two smallish but functional-seeming warships, each at anchor on either ends of the deep beach. The great ships of Dol Amroth's navy, mercantile and offensive, could be seen at a distance, docked in the deeper water on the far side of the harbor. But these two small ships were occupied by shouting children and teens and a few adults, apparently pitted against one another in teams. 

"What in the name of all the Valar are they doing?" A bemused Gandalf queried the watching Imrahil, from the shelter of the open-ended tent best positioned to watch the heated battle. 

"Capture-the-flag." Explained Imrahil with the faintest of smiles. 

"Capture-the-flag." Repeated Gandalf, looking at the chaotic scene again. There was, indeed, a flag at the top of the main mast of each ship. 

"The team which captures the other ship's flag and flies it from their mast first, wins." Explained the Prince.

"Wins? Wins what?" 

"Bragging rights, mostly. Although also the the privilege to have free time instead of helping with the washing-up after first meal. Most often the contest ends in a stale-mate, so they split the chore." 

"You put them to work?" Gandalf asked, unable to hide his amusement. The younglings in Imrahil's care included not only his own young princes and princess, and his nephews the Steward's sons, but also what seemed like a good half of the noble children of the Falas, and many of more humbler birth besides. 

Imrahil laughed, "I have over thirty of them, most summers. What else should I do with them?" His gaze turned towards the steps, where a remarkably burly young Swan Knight was carrying the aged Prince Adrahil carefully down to the beach. Behind him came Captain Telemnar, Faramir's small arms clasped around his neck as he carried the boy pick-a-back down the steep steps to deliver him beside Prince Adrahil on the cushions of a settee that had been placed under the shade of the open-walled tent. 

"My knees ache too much to come down the stairs easily these days." Adrahil reported with no sign whatsoever of shame or self-consciousness, "My pride lies in more important things, and 'tis much easier to have young Bellasaer carry me than to take the long way about."

"A far more pleasant duty than playing your scribe, if you don't mind my saying so, your highness." Quipped the very young swan knight with a grin. 

"You have a fine mind, Bellasaer." Imrahil scolded, "'Twill do you good to learn better how to use it." Imrahil turned his attention to his nephew, offering the boy some iced fruit drink and a pair of binoculars. 

"Now, Faramir," Began Adrahil, with the tone of a confidant, "Watch the two teams carefully, then tell me what your brother is doing wrong, and what your cousin Erchirion is doing right." 

It took a few tries, but Faramir eventually correctly deduced that Boromir was forgetting the water and pressure canons on the ships, while Erchirion, Elphir's deputy on the other team, used them to devastating advantage. Elphir's team still lost the day, in no small part because he had his younger sister Lothiriel and youngest brother Amrothos also playing for them, but Erchirion's clever tactics enabled them fight to nearly a stand-still. 

The following day, Faramir was approved to go about his normal routine. He came to the library in the afternoon, chattering as gaily as a magpie as he went about his work. Gandalf let it go; the child was young, and he was still helping. Besides, it was nice to hear him happy. He was never so much so, in Gondor. 

The sun-drenched days slipped by, only occasionally disturbed by sudden summer storms. Gandalf mainly kept to the library, appreciating the assistance that Faramir offered him in the early afternoons and evenings, and the occasional late night, but not allowing himself to become reliant upon it again. When he'd had all even he could tolerate of books and scrolls, Gandalf would join Prince Imrahil's warriors and the children at their morning training sessions. Since the Wizard could not use anywhere near the full extent of his power and there were many dangerous things on Middle Earth, he had become quite accomplished with sword and spear, as well as the staff he always carried. Sparring with the Swan Knights and Imrahil's sailors was very rewarding. He learned new techniques and defenses, and had the opportunity to observe the next generation, as well. 

Boromir was an incredibly talented young apprentice warrior. Faramir was decidedly less so, though he hit the mark with a bow or a sling far more often than younglings twice his age. And Imrahil and the arms-masters Adrahil had hired were very patient with their hesitant young fox-haired pupil, and with the other children. 

Gandalf observed that Faramir applied himself doggedly to his arms lessons, if not with the brilliance and flair he showed when assisting Gandalf with his research. The youth was so far advanced in his academic lessons, even in mathematics which was apparently his weakest subject, that neither Imrahil nor Adrahil had any objection to Faramir spending the time the other children spent in lessons with their teachers in the library with Gandalf. And Faramir certainly seemed to enjoy the time, and having Gandalf's attention. The boy was an apt pupil, and he rarely needed to be told something twice. 

The same was not so true of Faramir when he was playing with the other children. Gandalf found his way down to the beach to watch them several times a week, enjoying the sea breeze and the chaos. Faramir was far from the worst offender against the loose set of rules that Imrahil and Adrahil and their chosen deputies insisted upon for the game. Possibly the worst was Erchirion, who was summoned from the play for for a lecture and a half hour of chores on several occasions. It didn't seem to bother him and he ran right back to his play once released, although several of the other children were more self-conscious after getting into trouble. Teasing seemed to be kept to a minimum, though, in no small part because Boromir and Elphir, the two team Captains, had very little patience for it. 

Faramir didn't often get into trouble, in part because he tried to be conscientious about following the rules, but even more because he was good at disobeying only when no one was looking. Or no one except Erchirion, who had a great deal of patience for other players on his team disregarding adult direction. Gandalf occasionally noticed Adrahil observing Faramir's not infrequent flouting of the rules involving how high a child of his age was permitted to climb before diving off into the water, but Adrahil rarely called attention to it. Gandalf could understand why. Faramir was nimble and, within a certain meaning of the term, careful. It was clear that he had a good idea of his own capabilities, and rarely exceeded them. When he did, it was most likely to be Boromir who noticed. Boromir could usually just point at his brother, and Faramir would sigh, and swim himself back to the shore to wait out the fifteen minutes that was the normal 'first warning' penalty for erring players. 

It was, rather to Gandalf's surprise, Imrahil with whom young Faramir was the most likely to clash. The Wizard had observed such contests of will over issues ranging from when Faramir needed to take a break during training, to nights when Imrahil found him in the archives and sent him back to bed. 

"It's not fair!" Faramir had objected, on one such night. "My father lets me do as I please, of an evening." 

That wasn't strictly true, so far as Gandalf knew. It was more than Denethor was unaware and therefore unobjecting to Faramir's night wanderings. Imrahil insisted, and Faramir, over-tired perhaps, stomped his foot and shouted that he wished he was home in Minas Tirith. It was the first time, in Gandalf's memory, that the boy had called Minas Tirith home, and the word sounded strange coming from his mouth. 

Far from growing angry, Imrahil half-knelt down so that he could look Faramir in the eyes, and placed a gentle hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I'm very sorry to hear that, sister-son," He said calmly, "I hope that you feel otherwise, when you are less upset. We love to have you here. I would keep you with us forever and raise you like my own son, if I could. And I will treat you like my own child, when I have you - including making decisions to keep you safe and healthy, even if you do not like them. Making the hard choices is what parenting is about, sometimes." 

With that said, and so kindly, Faramir went more-or-less willingly to bed. And on other nights when Imrahil appeared, Faramir sighed and obeyed his Uncle's direction without vocal complaint. But the boy was not above waiting until Imrahil was otherwise occupied to appear, or asking his grandfather for permission to study late with Mithrandir when Imrahil was not around. 

Gandalf was well aware that Imrahil had hammered into each of his children's understanding at an early age that "Just because Daerada is involved, does NOT mean you have adult supervision. Use your judgment," but even he was unwilling to overcall his father when Adrahil's will had been so clearly stated. And Faramir was very good at charming his grandfather into agreeing with whatever course of action Faramir's heart was set upon. Adrahil had always been an easy sell for his children, and he was even more so, with his grandchildren. Gandalf suspected that was particularly with respect to Faramir and Boromir. There was only so much that their Dol Amroth family could do for them, in Minas Tirith, and Imrahil, Lorias, and Adrahil all knew that Denethor was a stern and distant parent, even to Boromir whom he favored. If they let their nephews get away with just a bit more than they might have otherwise, if they lavished them and the other grandchildren with additional affection and presents above and beyond what they might have otherwise during these summers, well, Gandalf could understand. 

He found himself prone to the same sort of indulgence, even towards Boromir, whom Gandalf found exhausting. Nor was he always a good influence on his younger brother. At one point during the summer, Faramir and Gandalf came to another dead end in their research, and Faramir shocked the Wizard by cursing a blue streak. Certainly words that no eight year old should know! He'd probably learned them from Boromir and Erchirion, or perhaps even Telemnar. 

Faramir saw the shock on Gandalf's face, and clapped both hands over his mouth. 

"I'm sorry!" He squeaked. 

Gandalf's first impulse was actually to be impressed as much as appalled. Then he remembered that he was an authority figure, and should scold the child. But he made it a very mild scolding, centering around Faramir having a better command of language and sufficient intelligence to express his frustration in a more appropriate manner. He didn't bother to point out that Denethor would punish the child harshly indeed for such uncouth words. There was no need to say bitter truths that the child knew all to well. Faramir heard them just fine without Gandalf having to speak them. 

But Faramir did not always get away with his flouting of the rules, nor would Gandalf have expected him to. The following day, Faramir scared Gandalf as well as Imrahil by leaping from the high mast of Boromir's ship with Boromir's team's flag. He fell with a splash into the water, clearing the forecastle of the ship by scarcely a yard. Boromir had started moving even as Faramir was jumping, to shove him further away from breaking his fragile bones on the wooden railing of the ship. Seamlessly, Boromir followed after, tackling his brother in the water, just as Imrahil shouted. 

"Faramir!" 

The boy's head snapped around, looking grateful for the reprieve from his brother's wrath. At least until he saw the frightened, angry expression on his Uncle's face. Gandalf could see the boy say "uh-oh," though Faramir was too far away to hear his voice over the sound of the waves. 

"Come here, now!" Imrahil commanded furiously. 

Faramir obeyed, white-faced. Boromir took the flag from him and smacked his brother's shoulder, relenting and ruffling the younger boy's hair when Faramir gave him a hurt look. With some words of encouragement that Gandalf also couldn't hear, Boromir shoved Faramir towards the shore. The boy swam back, taking his time about it. Boromir and Elphir called for the games to continue, and didn't hesitate to thump or throw over board those who didn't listen to the instruction. Consequently, by the time that Faramir got to Imrahil, the interested audience had mostly turned its attention elsewhere. 

Imrahil knelt down in the surf by his nephew, speaking sharply to him. Resigned and fighting tears, Faramir followed his uncle off towards the wooden building at the base of the stairs that served as a changing area for those members of the princely family and their guests who did choose to wear clothing when they swam (which number did, incidentally, include Faramir and his brother, as well as Imrahil). 

Whatever transpired in the changing house went unheard by Gandalf and the others on the beach. The building was several stone throws away, and the wind carried noise up the cliff rather than back towards the waves. It was a good half hour before Imrahil and Faramir reappeared. The boy was red-faced and evidently still fighting off tears. Imrahil's hand rested upon his shoulder, and he knelt again, presumably to tell Faramir that he was free to go back to playing. Faramir shook his head, and trudged dully towards the other end of the beach, along the narrow track by the cliff's edge towards where the water met the forested hills to the north of the city. 

Imrahil rejoined Gandalf and Adrahil under the shade of the tent. 

"Boy needs to grow a thicker skin." Commented Adrahil shortly. His gray-blue eyes went to Gandalf, and then he smiled guilelessly. "Perhaps you would go and have a word with him, Mithrandir? Imrahil will hardly be his favorite person to talk to right now, and I....well, you know, my knees." 

Gandalf grimly suspected that the wily old fox's knees were just fine, but he went, anyway. He was very fond of Faramir, after all. His longer legs let him catch up with the boy just beyond the north side of the castle. The waves crashed more loudly here, slapping against the rock jetties and the cliffs. 

Faramir was wiping away tears, but tried to hide it. 

"No shame in making a mistake, my boy." 

Faramir sniffled, crossed his arms, and looked away. 

Gandalf let him. The sound of the wind and the waves filled the silence, and the tears on Faramir's face dried. 

"Everyone makes mistakes." Gandalf spoke again, "And everyone pays for them, from time to time. The shame isn't in making the mistake - that's past, and can't be changed. The only shame is in not trying again." 

"But, I...." The boy began. 

"You're not the first to be taken to task in the course of that wildly dangerous game your Daeradar came up with. No one thinks the less of your cousin Erchirion, and he ends up going for a walk with your Uncle near daily." 

"Yes, but he's GOOD at this, I'm hardly more use than Lothiriel!" Faramir protested. 

"You're hardly older than Lothiriel." Gandalf pointed out fairly, "And she has two older brothers to fight with, whereas you have the disadvantage of only one." 

Faramir laughed a little at that. "Boromir is more than enough to handle, all on his own." 

"I should say so, yes." 

The boy and the Wizard shared a smile. Then Faramir straightened his shoulders. "I'm ready to go back now, I think." 

And so he did, diving back through the waves to meet his team. Elphir ruffled his hair and sent him to try and block Boromir's friend Gendarion from getting around the back of the ship. Faramir by himself wasn't up to the task, but he did recruit little Amrothos, who at a mere five years old wasn't good for much. But he was, apparently, known for sometimes forgetting that he wasn't allowed to bite, which meant that even the big boys like Gendarion took him seriously, particularly while Amrothos was clinging to Gendarion's neck. 

That night after dinner Adrahil, Imrahil, and Ivriniel took the children back down to the beach. There was a phosphorescent tide, and some of the sailors took the children up with them on kayacks and boards, surfing though the waves. Ivriniel and Imrahil went with them, but Imrahil came back when Adrahil gestured to him to return, accepting a towel, a flask of heated brandy, and his father's invitation to sit beside him on the settee. 

"Imrahil," The old Prince began, after first sending everyone but Gandalf away on one errand or another, "I think that the time has come for you to rule in my stead, as Prince-Regent." 

"You're retiring?" The younger Prince of Dol Amroth inquired incredulously.

"Yes. I'm getting old, starting to miss things." Adrahil waved a hand, looking saddened. "Time to turn the reins over to a new generation, and you're more than ready, my boy. "

"Missing things?" Imrahil inquired caustically. "I highly doubt that, honored sire. May I know the real reason you are planning on dumping even more administrative burdens in my lap, and during the visit of my nephews, no less?"

Adrahil grinned. "Sorry for that, my Rahi. I am not so much missing things as finding I lack the patience to deal with them, and my bones do ache. Some damp mornings I have to down several cups of willow-bark tea, and a dose of poppy juice, in order to function during the day. The time is soon coming when even that will no longer be enough, and I'd rather make the transition now, before we are forced to do so in more desperate straits."

Imrahil's manner softened. Both he and Gandalf knew of Adrahil's aches from his many years of service, both in the navy and clandestinely. "As you wish, of course, Ada." Imrahil conceded. 

"That's my lad." Said Adrahil, squeezing his son's shoulder, "I will be here to help you. And it will be good for me to have more time with my grandchildren, and some of our other promising officers who need a bit more guidance."

Imrahil looked at his father suspiciously. "You gave up actively spying years ago, or at least so both you and the Captain of our silent service have told me."

"I did." Adrahil assured his son. "But others may have need of the skills I can teach. I would like to be more active in their training this summer, and for the other summers left to me." As he said that, Adrahil winked over his son's shoulder at Gandalf. It filled Gandalf with unease. Imrahil was still suspicious, but he was obedient to his father's will, and went back to taking the children out into the shining water when Adrahil dismissed him. 

"What ARE you up to, old friend?" Gandalf asked. 

Adrahil chuckled. "You'll find out, in time." 

It was another week before that time came. Another evening, but this time Adrahil's joints really were paining him. He took dinner alone in his west-facing rooms, leaving Imrahil preside over the hall himself. And he invited Gandalf to join him. 

Adrahil kept the conversation light during the meal. It was a particular talent of his. Only afterward, pouring iced wine and fruit for Gandalf, did he turn the topic to more serious matters. 

"I know, Mithrandir, that you can be ruthless." 

"Now, Adrahil....." 

"For you, the ends can justify the means." 

"Adrahil...." 

"I can be ruthless, too." 

"Adrahil...." 

"I am sending Faramir back to Minas Tirith, after all. It is a bleak existence there, for him, but I will send him back. I will do so because Boromir needs him. My oldest grandson is brave, and good-hearted, but tends towards his father's faults. Without Faramir, we could end up with another Denethor, one who is more charismatic and able to command the hearts of men, yet even less insightful. But Boromir will not become that, not while Faramir lives. Boromir respects scholars, because his brother does. He is kind to those with less power, because he has seen the cost that such a lack of kindness has upon Faramir. Without Faramir, Boromir could become worse than Denethor - but that will not happen, while they have eachother. I will sacrifice Faramir's happy childhood, for the good of Gondor. I, too, am ruthless. Up to a point." 

It was hard, so very hard, to hear these truths about a child he had come to love spoken aloud. But Adrahil must have a reason, and a good one, for bringing Gandalf here to tell him this. So Gandalf took a deep breath, and asked, "Oh, yes?" 

Adrahil's even white teeth flashed into a fierce, fey smile, "If I decide that Faramir is not safe in Minas Tirith, then I am going to stage his death. I expect you to help, if it gets that far. To come and meet my agents as soon as I send for you, and to take Faramir to Elladan, in Imladris." 

That was....impossible. Yet tempting. But it would certainly be a desperate measure, and Gandalf said so. 

"I will not lose a grandchlid to the negligence of my son-in-law." Said Adrahil flatly, "I would burn the world first." 

"Calm thyself, Adrahil!," Gandalf snapped, putting some of his power behind his words, "You and I, all five of your grandchildren, and thousands of other souls live here, as well, after all!" 

Adrahil, who had almost never in his life been quailed by anything, stood firm again, only a slight bit abashed. He straightened, pulling himself to his feet painfully and gesturing towards a recent portrait of his grandchildren. "If those we mean to protect are broken," he asked, "then what use is winning?" 

"Adrahil....." Sighed Gandalf, his heart aching, understanding why his old friend was torn between jeopardizing their hope for the future by destabilizing Gondor, and saving one beloved child. 

"You owe me, Mithrandir." Said Adrahil. 

Gandalf sighed again, "I will help if I can, but Elladan is most often not in Imladris. 

Adrahil laughed harshly, "And the great Lord Elrond would turn away one of his late twin brother's long-sons, brought to his own son for safe-keeping? I somehow doubt that. After all, he did a good enough job raising Thorongil." 

"Adrahil...." 

"Speaking of Thorongil, I do hope that he's doing a better job of covering up his identity in the south." 

Gandalf sighed. Adrahil was not supposed to know any of that, but that did not stop Adrahil. "I do, as well. And so do Lords Elrond and Elladan." 

"Good. We are in agreement, then. Hopefully it will not be necessary. Hopefully, I can train Faramir and Boromir well enough, that between the two of them and those Imrahil and I set to watch them, they can keep eachother safe." 

Gandalf snorted. "Training them, while your son rules your princedom?" 

"We all have our roles to play, old friend. Have some more wine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> “Such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

Adrahil's contingency plans were much in Gandalf's thoughts over the following days. He watched Faramir closely, wondering what it was that had raised the specter of such a desperate plan. Adrahil was canny, careful, and yes, even ruthless. He was not the type to panic easily, and before Gandalf arrived in Dol Amroth, he had apparently been ready and willing to fake his nephew's death, and send Faramir far away from everyone and everything he'd ever known, so far from his family that he might never see them again. A loving grandfather, who adored being surrounded by his grandchildren. What had happened, what had Faramir said or done that showed such dire vulnerability, that Adrahil would even have considered such a desperate plan? 

The boy himself showed no sign of being in so much danger, at least not that Gandalf could see. He was a solemn child, yes, but not an unhappy one. He bore the signs of emotional negligence, quite clearly, but was far from broken, far even from stunted. On the contrary, he was blossoming in Dol Amroth, under the love and regard of Lorias, Imrahil, Adrahil, and even Gandalf. His other Aunt Ivriniel seemed to pay Faramir less attention than her other nephews, but then she was busy. Perhaps Faramir seemed to remind her, as he reminded Denethor, of Finduilas' death. 

Gandalf was watching Faramir again on a slightly overcast day, while the children played capture-the-flag. Faramir had fortunately been more careful ever since running afoul of Imrahil, but this day the boy seemed particularly excited, as if he had a plan. Boromir looked at him, puzzled, as the children chose teams in the sand before running into the sea. Faramir, true to his word, was still on Elphir's team, since the young sea prince had yet to defeat Boromir's team. 

The afternoon's contest began, the childrens' high voices yelling out war cries. Splashing and flailing and confusion ensued. In the thick of it, Faramir made another attempt to climb the high mast. This time, Boromir caught him, smacked him, and sent him carefully overboard into the water. While Boromir was distracted by his brother, Prince Erchirion swarmed up the main mast like a monkey, cut the flag loose, swung from the high mast towards the foresail, and then jumped safely from there into the water. Boromir and Gendarion and the entire team swam to intercept him, while Faramir and Elphir tried to stop them. 

No one noticed, well, no one but Gandalf and Imrahil, but Erchirion must actually have dropped the flag to Imrahil's youngest children, Amrothos and Lothiriel. At five and seven years of age, the two were usually discounted. Sometimes they were distracted by playing in the water or watching the birds, and that is what they had apparently been doing, on the far side of the ship, when Erchirion swung out over their location on his way to the foresail. 

Unwatched, unqueried, unopposed, Lothiriel and Amrothos swam leisurely back towards Elphir's ship. Just as they arrived, a shout went up when Boromir discovered that Erchirion did not, in fact, have the flag. But by then it was too late. Lord Duilin and the one other lad left behind to guard Elphir's ship were able to accept the flag from Lothiriel, and climb up to fly it from their own high mast. Elphir's team had won. 

Back on the sand afterward, on the way back up to the castle, Gandalf saw Boromir grab Faramir around the shoulders and muss his brother's hair. 

"Clever, kit." He complimented Faramir ruefully, "But tomorrow, we're going to crush you." 

"But I thought you said that you would pick me for your team, now that you're not mad at me anymore?" 

Boromir laughed merrily. "So I will. Tomorrow, we're going to defeat Elphir! You and I together." 

Gandalf stayed in Dol Amroth for another week after that, attending the dinners and the dances, watching the children at their play and telling them stories as well as continuing his research. It had been enlightening for Gandalf to see Boromir and Faramir with Imrahil and his family. In Dol Amroth, they behaved more like normal children, although still with a gravity and maturity beyond their years. It had been enlightening, too, to see them playing in the sand and the waves. There was something about Faramir's tactics that one day, using the discounted Amrothos and Lothiriel to steal the enemy flag, that stuck in Gandalf's mind, although he was not yet sure why. 

The Wizard had not brought fireworks with him to Dol Amroth, but there were Khandian merchants as well as native Dol Amroth alchemists who sold everything he needed to put together quite a show on the beach. The children ooh'ed and aah'ed, wading back into the water to play after the last of the rockets had shot up into the air. 

"Thank you for doing this." Said the Princess Lorias, her fine gown discarded in favor of a light gray shift and blue vest more appropriate to the warm night and the wind and water. 

"You are most welcome, dear Lady. Thank you for hosting me. May I ask you a question?"

"Of course." Lorias answered, surprise in her wide violet eyes. 

Gandalf had hardly known what he was going to say, but the words came to him. "What did Finduilas say, when you and Imrahil married without your father-by-law's approval?" 

Lorias, startled for a moment, blushed and then replied. "That a love like ours can make doors where there are only walls, and that such grace can grant courage beyond endurance."

Gandalf smoked his pipe as he considered that. "She always had a way with words, did Finduilas." He murmured. "I think that my clever pupil, Faramir's mother, was right again, and I was wrong. Your husband is well-married, lady. I suspect that the brothers Hurin and your husband and children will have a part to play in all this before it ends, and that they come to it as strong and capable as they will is in no small part due to you, warrior and scholar though you are not."

Lorias smiled and blushed prettily at the complement, before letting herself be swept into her husband's arms to dance before a bonfire on the beach. 

The next morning dawned bright and cool, with a wind blowing away from Dol Amroth. Gandalf took it as an omen. He said farewell to Faramir at breakfast, then went to the dock to find a ship. 

"Where are you bound, Mithrandir?" Prince Imrahil asked, bemused. 

"Oh, to the Shire, I believe. In Eriador, where dwell the peaceful halflings." 

"Not to Imladris or Gondor, to continue your research?"

"No, Imrahil. I think I have found all I can find in books, for the time being." Gandalf explained, thinking to himself that it would not matter how much knowledge he had accumulated, if he had not also nurtured enough such beings who could wield the knowledge. He, and middle earth, might owe Imrahil, Lorias, and Faramir for a timely reminder, as well as a clever idea.

"Well, I can have Telemnar and the Wind Weaver sail you wherever you would like to go." The Prince of Dol Amroth offered, not bothering to hide a smile at Gandalf's poorly hidden wince at the idea of sailing with Telemnar again. Imrahil's brother-by-law was a good man, but he loved sailing the fastest, most adventurous way he thought would not break his ship. Still, a ride was a ride. 

As Gandalf prepared to sail from Dol Amroth to the port nearest the shire, he saw the two small ships bobbing in the harbor, as Boromir and Elphir led their brave crews in another game of capture-the-flag. So much might well rest on this generation. Gandalf hoped that they would be ready.


End file.
